Page 34 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“Right.” He hesitates.
“Shall we… get you up to your bed?” she offers.
His stomach rumbles in response. “Ah, maybe I ought to feed myself first.”
“I can get Rookwood to—”
“Don’t be daft,” Dorian responds. “I’m perfectly capable of sourcing myself something to eat.”
“Right.” Selene hovers by his side. “I’ll just… go back upstairs then.”
A pause.
“Would you like some warm milk?” Dorian suggests.
“Come again?”
“Warm milk,” he repeats. “If you’re having trouble sleeping.”
“Oh! Yes, actually. That sounds wonderful.”
Dorian stands up, her shawl dropping to his seat behind him. He picks it up, frowning.
“Ah!” Selene says, snatching it back. “This is just—I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t want you to get cold, either,so…”
Dorian stares at her as she wraps the shawl around her own shoulders again, suddenly feeling awfully foolish. The shawl is far too flimsy to be of much use, anyway.
He picks up his own candle and tilts it against hers, flooding the room with light. He doesn’t look at her again as they make their way down to the kitchens.
Selene hasn’t been down to the kitchens in Roselune Abbey since she was a child. Dorian probably comes down here every day. She’s not forgotten the ‘we’ Dorian spoke of when she first arrived, the implication that ate his meals with his servants. Although, by the looks of things, Dorian doesn’t eat his meals with anyone.
No wonder he’s so skinny.
“Sit,” Dorian instructs, pointing to one of the wingback chairs beside the hearth. The fire is out now, but the embers remain. Selene snuggles into her seat while Dorian sets about heating her milk. He must be ravenous, but he ensures she has a warm cup in her hands before turning to source any food for himself.
Selene sips her milk. Finally, Dorian joins her, tearing into his plate of food with reckless abandon. She’s never seen a noble eat like that. Her mother would have been disgusted. Selene, however, finds it strangely endearing, though she’s also a little jealous.Shecould never eat like that. What must it be like, not to care what others think of you?
At first, she thinks that this must mean Dorian is comfortable around her, but then she realises he’s most likely like this with everyone. Her mother said the Nightblooms were mannerless, but having seen Dorian with his people, Selene cannot help but think that Dorian and his father—and the rest of his family—have a different idea about what manners are. Her father would never have rolled up his sleeves to help a man fix his roof, and would have thought himself generous if he’d arranged to have it fixed.
Of the two of them, she knows who’s the better lord.
“Are you happy with Marta?” Dorian asks between mouthfuls.
Selene startles, almost surprised to be addressed. “Yes, very.”
“That’s good.” He swallows another piece of cheese. “And… your room? It’s to your liking?”
“It’s very comfortable.”
“It’s outdated,” Dorian admits. “You don’t have to be so polite, you know.”
“Oh, but I do.”
Dorian raises an eyebrow.
Selene exhales, and finds the courage to be honest. “You’ve done me a great service,” she says. “Don’t think I’m unaware of that. I couldn’t possibly repay your kindness with ungratefulness.”
“You don’t need to be grateful,” Dorian insists. “I won’t pretend to fully understand your reasons, but you were clearly in a difficult spot that you should never have had to be in in the first place. You shouldn’t have to be grateful to someone because they got you out of it.”
